Unkillable by Patrick E. McLean Read Free Book Online Page B

as I paused, I heard Marsten’s voice from the morgue. It sounded strong and angry.
    “Oh, no, honey, there’s not a corpse walking around. Somebody played a trick on you, and I’m going to catch them. I’m going to catch them and when I do, I’m going to play a trick or two on them.”
    The end of the hallway was no place to hide I turned to the right and started climbing. At the top of the stairs was a door, so I opened it. On the other side was every cop in the city, or at least that’s what it looked like to me. Y’know those big rooms they have in 70’s cop TV shows where there’s a whole bunch of desks and phones and cops and bad guys being processed? Yeah, it was that room.
    One thing was certain, there was no going back. So I stepped through the door and closed it behind me. I started across as if it was a minefield. In life, I’d never been a very confident person, and if I was trying to pull this kind of stunt off while I was alive, I’m sure I would have pissed myself three steps in. I also would have tripped over something or started sweating profusely or gotten a case of the hiccups, or screwed it up in any one of a thousand other ways. But I wasn’t nervous.
    Don’t get me wrong, I was scared – intellectually terrified – but my gut felt cool and solid. I walked across the room, like I owned the place. Like I had a reason for being there. On the far side of the room, I saw the duty Sergeant take notice of me. Not good. I stumbled over to the nearest desk and picked up a stack of papers, then I made right for him. A nervous-looking woman came up to the rail and distracted him with a request. I pushed through the wooden railing and thought I was home free until I heard, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
    I turned around and looked at the Sergeant. I walked right up to him, brandishing my papers like a talisman.
    “I’m dropping these off and then I’m going to go home to sleep like the dead.”
    I saw him soften, but there was still a skeptical look in his eye.
    “Don’t ever work undercover buddy, that’s all I can tell you.” And then I turned and limped out the front door.

    Across the street, Bruce was waiting in a large black hearse. As I got in I asked him, “What did you do with the Bluesmobile?”
    “What?” said Bruce.
    “The Caddy? What happened to the Caddy?”
    “We’ve never had a Cadillac hearse,” said Bruce, obviously not catching my movie line reference.
    “You traded it for a microphone,” I said, attempting to prompt him with the next line.
    “A microphone?” asked Bruce as he failed his straight man audition.
    “Never mind,” I said. “Just drive.” The hearse rolled.

    * * * * *

    Chapter 11
     
    We drove through the dark canyons between the buildings that were the long shadows cast by the early morning sun. One moment, we were in darkness. The next we were transfixed by light. And then, like a gasoline-powered cockroach, we scurried back into the shadows once again.
    The extremes made it impossible for me to focus on the world as it slid by outside my window. It was all too fast, too pointless. The ordinary people of the world going about their ordinary business, but none of it mattered. None of it seemed to touch me. I was out of phase.
    What they cared about was foreign to me. Their urgencies seemed so petty. I looked at Bruce. Blissfully, he was silent. He was driving with that hyper focus he had when he was stoned. At least I think he was stoned. Who knows what cocktail of stuff was running through his system? What do you call it when you huff embalming fluid?
    But I didn’t care what he was on. And really, how bad can it be if you crash a hearse? This thing was a tank anyway. Even if we ran somebody over, we could scoop ‘em right up and be on our way. A hearse may be the only vehicle that comes with a built in murder alibi.
    “Whaddya doing with this body in the car?”
    “What do you mean, officer? It’s a hearse.”
    “What’s